


Hide and Seek

by throwupsparkles



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Blindness, Brotherly Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, blind!Mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: Mikey walks over and sits in Pete’s lap, who giggles.“I found you,” Mikey whispers.“I knew you would.”
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Comments: 27
Kudos: 113





	Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [inmorninglight](https://inmorninglight.tumblr.com/) for listening to my rants about this fic and being an awesome beta.

“Ok, there’s a step--yeah good, and--yeah one more.”

Mikey smiles at his brother’s edgy voice, terrified of being left in charge even after all these years. And Mikey wonders if there will ever be a day where Gerard will realize that Mikey could never trust anyone more than he trusts his brother. 

“I’ve been here before,” Mikey reminds him and he hears Gerard’s huff of laughter.

“Yeah but Mom threatened to skin me alive if her baby boy doesn’t make it back from New York in one piece,” he says, placing his hand lightly on Mikey’s elbow to lead him. Mikey sweeps his cane in a back and forth motion, hearing it hit the edges of the walls so he knows the width of the hall. 

Mikey doesn’t like to use his cane. He can hear it scrap along the ground, like it’s mocking him. Worse, it draws attention and makes Mikey blush though he can’t see the shade of red. His mom always made him carry it around, even if she had a grip on his arm. And Gerard, he tries to be the cooler older brother and let him leave the house without it, but he usually always freaks out so it’s not even worth it. 

Mikey’s cane finds resistance and he feels Gerard’s hand tug back on his elbow to let him know they needed to stop. He feels the air move as Gerard leans past him and then he hears the soft _ding_ of the elevator. 

Mikey knows that Gerard lied when they came up with this plan for their mom. He had told her his apartment was on the first floor and that Mikey wouldn’t have any issues getting to and from home. Because, there was no fucking way that his mom would have let him move in with Gerard if she knew his place was on the fourth floor. He shudders just thinking about her rant about how Mikey would die breaking his neck on the steps. 

The doors open with another _ding_ and Mikey smiles, because that’s good. Mikey lives his life by cues. Dings of elevators, changes of the air from someone walking past, the smell of coffee to let him know there’s a Starbucks near. He feels Gerard take his elbow again and lead him into the enclosed elevator car. Gerard take’s Mikey’s hand and presses his fingers against the buttons, they don’t have braille, so he says, “It’s the top right,” then uses Mikey’s finger to press down.

Mikey doesn’t need sight to know that this is Gerard’s apartment. He can smell the coffee, cigarettes, and paint hit him as soon as he hears the door open. And it’s so familiar to the scent he used to live in when he would lounge in Gerard's basement. It makes him feel like he’s finally back home even though he only left his childhood house an hour ago. Mikey inhales deeply and holds it in. 

Home.

Exhales. Then, Gerard lets go of Mikey to allow him to wander around. He knows that he already “Mikey proofed” it by picking up any obstacles on the floor, at least larger items like easels and speakers. He feels himself walk over comic books and shuffle among cigarette packs and grins. 

“Your room is to the left,” Gerard calls softly as Mikey makes his way down the tiny hall. It’s not a big apartment. The main room is both a living room and kitchen. The hall contains a small bathroom and two bedrooms. Mikey turns left and walks until he finds the bed. He drops his cane and spreads out along the mattress, smiling. 

He feels free. 

*

“Music?” His mom had asked skeptically, “Mikey, even if you weren’t blind I wouldn’t let you study something as frivolous as _music_.” 

“Gerard is going to school to be a comic book artist,” Mikey muttered, feeling a bit of an ass for throwing his older brother under the bus, but whatever. 

“He has an internship,” she had sighed, “He’s working towards a career. What do you want to do in music? Produce?”

“No,” Mikey said slowly, “I want to be in a band.”

His mom just huffed. “That’s a hobby, not a career path.”

It was Gerard who, after listening to Mikey rant about how overbearing mom was being again, talked her into letting him get a music degree if he also promised to minor in business so he could at least find a job at a label or something. 

“But why NYU?” She sighed, “Can’t you just take some classes at the community college?”

“Mom, I’ve been homeschooled since I was ten. I need to get out of Jersey.”

And it was Gerard who stepped in again. “NYU is only five minutes from SVA,” he said, “I can drop him off at campus and pick him up. He can live with me.”

*

“Just let me go with you the first time,” Gerard pleads on the first morning of classes.  
  


“You’re going to make yourself late,” Mikey sighs, pulling his jacket on, “Or you’ll make me late more likely. I want to get there early to get my bearings.”

He heard Gerard falter, and he could just imagine him trying to smooth down his hair quickly and smell his armpit to see if he’d be able to go to school in the state he was in. Mikey hears the gush of wind as Gerard makes a sound of disgust at the stink that is wafting off himself. “Yeah, ok. Let me give you a ride to the train station at least.”

Then, “Are you sure about this?” Gerard says when the car stops. “I can just drive you to campus.”

“You’re going to be late for your own classes if you try to fight Manhattan traffic,” Mikey answers, “I’m going to be fine. I’ve taken the train by myself before.”

Gerard puts an arm around him and pulls him close, resting his forehead against Mikey’s. “If anything happens to you, I swear to God,” he mutters.

Mikey reaches around and rubs at the back of Gerard’s neck, his weakness. “I know,” he says softly.

“Call me when you get to campus?”

“Course,” Mikey says, giving his neck one last squeeze before getting out of the car. 

He hears the cling-clang of his cane hitting the metal platform of the railing and when he feels the grooves vibrate up the metal pole, he stops. 

“Excuse me? Do you need help?” He hears someone ask, soft and feminine. 

“No thank you,” he forces politely. The thing with walking without someone guiding him, is that people ask if he needs help all the time. Or worse, they make sympathetic noises because they think he’s helpless.

“Alright, sweetie, just holler if you need anything.”

He sighs and digs his headphones out and hits play on his iPod, letting Thursday drown out anyone else who might come to “help”. It’s not that he thinks everyone is out to get him or has an agenda. He just is tired of feeling like lesser of a person. He understands that he needs help from time to time, but he just wished that people, even Gerard and his mom, would let him be the one to decide when he needed the help. He had his sight taken away from him, not his ability to make decisions. 

He pulls out an earphone when he boards the train so he can hear the announcements, and finds a pole to hang onto by the door so he wouldn’t have to walk the small car with his cane hitting people’s ankles. When he makes it to his stop, he sets off down the street, mentally repeating the directions that Gerard gave him this morning. Down, then right at the first light. 

When he makes it to a crosswalk, he hits the button and waits until he hears the loud click of the walk sign changing. He feels people walk past him as well, so he moves forward. He can tell he’s made it to campus by the laughter and yells of other students. And he can smell the cut grass and freshly laid mulch. 

He fumbles with his phone and hits two buttons before hearing the dial tone, then, “Mikey?”

“Made it,” Mikey says.

He hears a sigh of relief. There’s a pause then, “Have fun today, Mikes.”

Mikey grins and hangs up.

His cane moves along the pebbled walkway and finds his way to the main building. He’s supposed to meet up with someone who’s going to show him to his classes. This someone turns out to be a guy named Ray who has an awesome handshake and a warm, excited voice.

“Hey, you must be Mikey! I’m Ray Toro,” he says, taking his hand and placing his other hand on top of Mikey’s. “I’m supposed to help you around?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Mikey says.

Ray releases his hand. “Can I?”

Mikey knows he means touch his arm, so he nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

Ray rests his hand lightly on Mikey’s forearm by his elbow and starts walking. “So you have Music Theory first...with Mr. Armstrong? That’s a great first class, he’s such a great teacher, kind of can’t let it go that it’s not the 90s punk scene anymore.”

“Sounds awesome,” Mikey laughs.

“Oh, yeah he’s great! Oh...and then economics?” Ray says with a clear taste of disdain in his tone, “That sucks.” 

“My mom wouldn’t let me fly from the nest without promising I’d take a few business courses.”

Ray laughs, “Fair. Ok, here we are. Do you prefer the front or back of the class?”

“Front,” Mikey says, “Near the door if possible.”

“You got it.”

They don’t walk very far before Mikey’s cane hits the metal leg of a chair and Ray is guiding him to sit. 

“So, I’ll meet you after class, right outside the door?”

“Yeah sounds good.”

“Have a nice class, Mikey.”

“Thanks,” he says, and he means it. He likes that Ray doesn’t hover. 

*

The rest of the morning is pretty uneventful. Ray comes to pick him up from his class then walks him to another one. The whole way, he talks about his time as a TA and his work study as a Social Worker, which is how he got this gig of being Mikey’s chauffeur. He also _really_ loves music and talks his ear off about Metallica and even invites him to come hear his band play sometime. 

He likes that he doesn’t have to answer a bunch of questions or talk about himself with Ray. Ray just fills the silence with stories and anecdotes. Or he hums guitar riffs that he’s been working on. Ray is sorta great. 

Things don’t get interesting until he’s in his composition class and someone whispers, “Can I borrow a pencil?”

Mikey frowns and leans in towards the voice to whisper, “Sorry, I don’t have one”

“Oh,” then, “You don’t have anything out...are you not taking notes? Ms. Williams is pretty hardcore on her tests from what I hear, you might want to jot some of this down.”

There’s always someone every now and then who won’t realize that he’s blind and they’ll say something until they realize it and start to apologize profusely. But that mostly happens if they’re standing behind Mikey and don’t see his dark glasses or the cane. Either this guy thinks he’s a douchebag who wears sunglasses inside or he’s just clueless.

“Um, I tape my lectures and listen to them back later when I need to study.”

“Oh, cool. I’m not much of an audio learner even though I’m a music major. I’m Pete by the way.”

“Mikey,” Mikey says.

He doesn’t hear from Pete again, so he moves back to his normal sitting position and listens to the lecture. 

*

Mikey traces his fingers over the clumps of dry paint. 

“What do you think?” Gerard asks softly.

Mikey hums and taps on the edges of the canvas, how the bumps are soft and shallow then build up to sharp, angry points the closer he moves to the center. He can feel indents of the ridges, how there’s a swirl of intent. He finds where the bristles were pressed against the paint, frustrated. The paint is matte, not a smooth glossy finish that he can dance over. No, it’s rough and hard to move over. It’s stuck and annoyed.

“You were mad,” Mikey says.

“Yeah.”

Mikey feels the thinness of the shapes, how they’re gangly and stretch along the length of the canvas. “At me?”

“About you,” Gerard corrects quietly.

Mikey’s hand hovers over the painting. He doesn’t need to touch paint to know why he’s mad. It’s what drives all of his negative thoughts. All his demons are fueled by the same lie. 

He blinded Mikey.

*

Mikey hasn’t had a crush on anyone before, so he’s not really sure if that’s what this is. 

What he does know is that he looks forward to his composition class everyday, just to feel the warmth of Pete when he leans over to take the handouts that Ms. Williams passes out. Pete must have caught on because he started scooting his chair close to Mikey so that he could read softly to him. Mikey shivers every time, listening to his whispers pour into his ear like honey. It makes him close his eyes and curl his toes, feeling his stomach flip. 

This goes on for a few weeks, then Ray stops Mikey before they go into the classroom. “Ask him out.”

“What?” Mikey asks, wincing.

He hears Ray sigh, and his voice softens, “Ask him out, Mikey. He’ll say yes.”

“Why, because I’m blind?” He mutters. 

Ray scoffs. “No, not a pity thing. I see him watch you when you come to class and his face lights up every single time.”

Mikey feels his face warm and Ray laughs gently. “Just ask him to lunch or something.”

Before Mikey gets to say anything else, Ray is leading them into the classroom. 

“Hey, Ray,” Pete says.

“Hi, Pete. Alright, see you later, Mikeyway,” Ray says and Mikey waits to hear his footsteps grow quieter before he blurts out, “Do you want to get lunch?”

There’s a long quiet moment where Mikey just wants to jam his cane through his heart, then Pete says, “Yeah.”

*

When Ray comes to help Mikey to his next class, Pete says, “I’ve got it from here, Ray.”

Mikey can _hear_ the smile on Ray’s face when he says, “Okay, see you tomorrow, Mikey.”

Bastard.

Pete doesn’t take Mikey’s arm, he just walks next to him and Mikey appreciates it. Pete makes sure to walk slow and back a bit so that Mikey’s cane can move in front of them. He talks low by his ear about some project he’s working on for his performance piece. He’s been guiding them for a while before he takes Mikey’s hand, which makes him freeze. “Here,” Pete says softly, tugging him a bit and he hears a door open, the bell chiming above them as they walk in.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see your ugly face until your shift,” he hears, making him wince. The voice is loud and aggressive, but has an edge of teasing. 

“I’m not going into the kitchen,” Pete protests, “I’m here for lunch with my friend, Mikeyway.”

“Yeah, you better,” He hears the guy say.

“This is my boss, Frank,” He tells Mikey, “He’s usually better at first impressions.”

“Don’t lie to the kid,” Frank says, then, “Special is sweet potato falafels with fresh tzatziki.”

“Sound good?” Pete asks closely to Mikey, who just nods. 

“Alright, I’ll bring it out soon,” Frank says and he hears him walk away, his footsteps disappearing amongst the clatter of the kitchen.

He feels Pete pull on his hand gently and lead him to a chair. Mikey sits down and folds up his cane, putting it on the chair beside him. 

“Favorite soda?”

“Coke Zero?”

“Be right back.”

Pete loves to talk. He fills the space easily with stories of when he was a kid, imaginative and a bit shy which makes Mikey think of Gerard a bit. He talks about his rebellious teenager days, which really weren’t that rebellious at all. Just skateboards and cigarettes in the suburbs and Mikey laughs at how cool Teenage Pete probably thought he was. 

When their food arrives, Mikey is a bit embarrassed. It’s not that he can’t eat like a normal person, he’s been doing this for ten years now, but it’s still a bit off putting to eat in front of someone you can’t see.

Mikey picks up the wrap, but he feels Pete’s hand gentle on his wrist. “Wait,” and Mikey sets the wrap down. “Try it on it’s own first.” And he smells fried sweet potato and fresh cucumber. He opens his mouth and feels the crisp breading contrasted with the creamy, cool tzatziki. And he feels Pete’s fingers at the corner of his mouth, making his breath stutter.

“Good, right?” He asks softly.

*

This goes on for a couple of months. Ray will take him to classes, trying to not to laugh at Mikey’s impatience to get to his composition class. And then Ray will give his hand a squeeze before leaving him at his desk next to Pete. 

Pete starts leaving little gifts on his desk for him to find. Candy, a can of soda, a mixtape. 

His favorite is the sunflower. He smiles as he brings it to his nose and inhales, giggling at the petals as they tickle his nose. 

The night Pete comes over for the first time, Mikey was nervous that Gerard would do his weird hermit thing and try to scuttle away as soon as he saw a new person. But, his protectiveness wins over his awkwardness and Gerard stays. Mikey could feel Gerard’s stiffness as he led Pete into the apartment. 

“Mikey, I was thinking we should order...oh, hey,” Gerard had said and there was a shuffling of papers, probably whatever project he was working on for school. 

Pete left Mikey’s side and he was sure he went to shake Gerard’s limp hand. “I’m Pete, Mikey’s friend.”

“Gerard, his brother,” Gerard said stiffly, in full Mamma Bear mode. Mikey couldn’t hide his smile and he knew that Pete wasn’t phased by Gerard’s tone.

But Pete had talked to Gerard about his paintings for at least an hour and then they started on about Iron Maiden, and Mikey knew that Pete had won his heart over. 

*

Mikey’s first kiss is a disaster, but it’s also kind of perfect.

They’re on his bed, Pete is playing something on Mikey’s bass and he just goes for it. He misses of course. He ends up kissing the side of Pete’s nose, and Mikey wants to disappear. He’s so embarrassed, but Pete just laughs low and warm before putting the bass down and cupping Mikey’s cheek. 

“Let’s try that again,” he says gently before pressing their lips together. 

Mikey feels warm and safe. That cozy feeling he can remember back when he was a kid and would come into the warm living room with hot cocoa after playing out in the snow all day. Pete’s gentle and lazy with his kiss, just a slight pressure then softly sucking on Mikey’s bottom lip. Mikey releases a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding when Pete pulls away. 

“What do I look like?” Mikey whispers, “After my first kiss, what do I look like?”

Pete makes a soft noise then leans his forehead against Mikey’s forehead. “Beautiful,” he whispers, “Your cheeks are kinda pink and your lips are a little wet.”

Mikey smiles, picturing it. He wonders if Pete can see how in over his head he feels. When Pete takes Mikey’s glasses off, he reactively shuts his eyes. “No,” Mikey whispers, “don’t.” 

But Pete traces his fingers over Mikey’s eyelids. “Show me,” Pete says softly. 

“They’re ugly,” Mikey says in a small voice. He’s never seen them, but he knows the scars over his eyes can’t be pretty, not from the way his mother had screamed the first time he opened them. 

“Mikeyway,” Pete whispers, “Nothing about you could be ugly.”

So, Mikey sighs and opens his eyes and waits for Pete to gasp in horror.

But there’s silence.

Then, “Beautiful,” he whispers, and he’s kissing Mikey again. 

*

Sometimes when Mikey is feeling sad, he’ll put on _Princess Bride_.

It was the last movie he remembers watching. Gerard and Mikey had been sitting in the living room and Gerard built them swords out of paper towel rolls. They bounced around on couch cushions and took turns saying, “"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!”

Mikey likes to lay his head against the screen of the TV, as if getting close would put the images into his mind. He’s starting to forget what the movie looks like. He can remember where everyone stood in the scenes, but their faces have become blurry. 

He traces his finger against the smooth glass, trying to paint their faces back on. 

*

“What do you have here that doesn’t have an indefinite shelf life?” Pete asks one day.

Mikey shrugs, sitting at the kitchen table. “I mostly eat whatever can be microwaved or put in the toaster,” he says, “I can’t really handle knives, Pete.”

Pete huffs, “You’re more self sufficient than you give yourself credit for.”

Mikey doesn’t really know what to say to that, because he wants to believe that he can depend on himself. He just hasn’t really been given the chance. Even small things like cooking have always been done for him. Ever since he lost his sight, he’s been taken care of. Taken care of in the way he doesn’t need, suffocated. 

Pete sighs and Mikey jumps at the cabinets shutting. “Come on, we’re going to the store.”

Mikey hates going shopping. He hates the bustle of everyone moving around him, rushing him. He hates feeling like he’s in the way. And he hates feeling everyone’s eyes on him. 

Pete tucks Mikey’s hand in the curve of his arm as he leads them around the produce section. He stops and holds different vegetables to Mikey’s nose and has him feel the texture. “Food is more than just filling your stomach,” he whispers, “It’s a sensory experience.”“I’m short one of those,” Mikey teases, and Pete kisses the side of his head, “I know, dumbass.”

He holds something under his nose and Mikey smells the earthy spice, tingling his nose a bit. “A pepper?”

“Mmhmm,” Pete replies, “Can you tell which one?”

Mikey takes the pepper in his hands and knows it’s a bell from the shape, “I’m not sure what color.”“Red smells sweetest,” Pete explains gently, “Green is the most potent, like stingy? And yellow would be in the middle.” 

Mikey holds the pepper to his nose and inhales, wrinkling his nose at how it burns his nose a bit. “Green.”

Pete rewards him with a kiss. 

When they get back to the apartment, Gerard is there playing Blur and Mikey can smell fresh paint. “Hey, I was going to order pizza,” Gerard says, “You guys want in?”

“Mikey’s going to make soup,” Pete says softly and Mikey can almost hear Gerard’s eyebrows going up to his forehead. 

“Oh?”

Pete takes the grocery bag from Mikey’s hands and leads him into the kitchen. “Can you get out a stock pot?”

Mikey smiles because he knows that Pete is going to push him to do everything himself. The only problem with cooking in Gerard’s apartment is that he doesn’t have a lot of cookware or utensils. “I think this is the biggest pot,” Mikey says and Pete puts it on the stove. He hears the click of the gas igniting. 

“What kind of soup are you making?” Gerard says by his ear. He rests his chin on Mikey’s bony shoulder, watching him feel around to remove the vegetables from the bag.

“Tortilla soup,” Pete answers for him. 

Gerard ruffles Mikey’s hair and then he hears him walk away and disappear in the music coming from the speakers in the living room. 

He hears a rustle of the grocery bag and then something thumps on the counter. “What’s that?” Mikey asks. 

Pete laughs gently and pulls Mikey’s hand over to touch the surprise. It’s plastic, a container maybe, but it’s long and there’s a...lever? “I don’t know what this is.”

“It cuts your vegetables,” Pete says gently. Mikey hears the lid open. “You put the veggie in here,” he says, taking Mikey’s hand and using it to pick up an onion and place it in. The lid snaps shut and Pete puts Mikey’s hand on the level. “Push down.” 

Mikey does and he starts laughing, because he’s cutting vegetables. Something so mundane, but something he’s never been able to do. 

“I’m cooking,” Mikey whispers.

*

Mikey is already running late when the elevator door won’t open. He keeps pushing the button, but it won’t ding. He runs his hands over the door and sighs when he feels a piece of paper taped in the center. 

He runs his cane along the floor until he feels it move off the ledge. He reaches out with his other hand and finds the railing. Taking a deep breath, Mikey goes to take a step slowly, his foot finding the wood on the first try. He takes it slow, using his cane to help him determine the next step, and he’s doing ok until he takes too big of a step and slides down. 

The steps dig into his back and he falls down, hitting the landing hard on his elbows and tailbone. He presses his lips together to keep from crying out and lays out on the floor for a moment. 

He doesn’t feel sorry for himself often, but it’s hard not to in moments like these. 

“Mikey?” He hears Gerard call out at the top of the steps.

Mikey groans.

“Oh my God, Mikey!”

There’s a rush of feet on the steps then Gerard’s hands are on Mikey’s shoulders. “Did you hit your head?”

Mikey sits up, pushing against Gerard’s insistand hands. “I’m ok. I fell on my ass, it’s fine.”

Gerard helps Mikey stand and he winces, accepting Gerard’s help to take his weight. They move slowly up the stairs and Gerard helps him onto the couch when they get to the apartment.

“Can you text Ray for me?” Mikey whispers.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, Mikey hears him dig through his bag then walk away. He listens to him fumble in the kitchen then the bathroom before coming back. “Here, sit up and lift your shirt so I can see your back.”

Mikey does and winces at Gerard’s intake of breath. “It’s bad?”

“You’re definitely going to have a bruise,” Gerard says and rests something cold against his hot flesh. Mikey jumps, but relaxes into it. Gerard lifts Mikey’s arms and rubs alcohol pads along the scraps, causing Mikey to hiss.

“I know,” Gerard murmurs sympathetically. 

Once Gerard has him looked over, he eases him to lay down on the couch, keeping the frozen bag of something--maybe peas--under his back. Gerard sits on the other end of the couch and puts Mikey’s feet into his lap. 

He turns on some music, Anthrax, so Mikey can focus on something other than the pain. He’s more embarrassed than anything, he feels…

“Mikey?” Gerard asks softly, “I can hear the gears turning from here.”

Mikey sighs and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “It just felt like I was starting to be self-reliant, for once. And then this happens.”

And it was true. Mikey had felt more independent these last three months than ever before.He walked to the train station alone, was passing his classes and even had a boyfriend. He wasn’t just Gerard’s blind brother he felt guilty over.

“Mikey,” Gerard whispers, “I wish…” but he trails off, then says, “You’re doing great. This was just a bad day.”

*

Mikey is sitting in Pete’s lap, tracing his fingers over Pete’s nose, feels the slope of it before it rounds into a small shape. His fingertips trail down and over Pete’s lips. He leans in and kisses him. 

Pete laughs softly and kisses back. 

“What color are your eyes?” Mikey asks.

“Brown,” Pete answers.

Mikey frowns, trying to remember what brown looks like. “That’s warm, right?”

Pete shifts Mikey so that he’s closer and kisses the tip of his nose. “Yeah, it can be. It’s earthy, like dirt.”

Mikey scoffs, “You’re eyes aren’t dirt.”

Pete giggles. “Chocolate.”

Mikey hums. “Sweet and rich,” he whispers.

Mikey earns another kiss, this one deeper.

“Addictive,” Mikey breathes against Pete’s lips, grounding down against Pete. He moans and wraps his hands over Mikey’s narrow hips, tugging him closer. Pete licks at Mikey’s mouth until he let’s him in. Mikey wonders if everyone who hasn’t waited until they were nineteen to kiss is as good at it as Pete. He knows the perfect pressure to make Mikey melt in his hands, how to nip at his bottom lip to get him to shiver, how to stroke his tongue with his to make Mikey go mad with want. 

“I haven’t,” Mikey breathes when Pete’s fingers curve into his waistband. 

“I know,” Pete says gently, “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

And they don’t. Mikey lets Pete kiss him until he’s dizzy with want, taking his shirt off and laying him out on the bed. Pete covers his chest in kisses, Mikey arching into his mouth when his tongue runs over Mikey’s nipple. 

“So sensitive,” Pete muses, biting down gently.

“Motherfuck,” Mikey groans, bucking his hips up.

Pete kisses his irritated skin gently. “You look so beautiful right now,” he murmurs.

“Tell me,” Mikey whispers. 

Pete’s tongue trails down Mikey’s stomach. “You’re flushed, cheeks and chest pink. Your lips are swollen,” he whispers and then he feels Pete’s fingers stroke his cheek. “And your eyes are shining.”

*

After Mikey takes Gerard to the restaurant where Pete works, Frank starts hanging around the apartment. Mikey doesn’t mind because Frank is loud as fuck, so at least Mikey isn’t surprised to find someone strange in his space. He hated when that happened. When he thought he was alone only to hear a shuffle of feet or a sniffle. There was no way to miss Frank though. 

And Mikey liked how Frank made Gerard laugh. Really laugh, not the fake nasally one he gave when he was just trying to be polite. Frank made him belly laugh, full and loud which always made Mikey smile.

What he doesn’t like is how Frank asks all the wrong questions. The guy seriously has no filter or concept of what is an acceptable thing to ask someone. He hears Frank ask about Gerard and Mikey’s grandmother who passed away, a conversation he and Gerard hadn’t even had since the funeral. Frank asks about Gerard’s drinking, which Mikey never touches with a ten foot pole if he doesn’t want to be ignored for days on end. And worse, Frank asks about Mikey.

He comes out of his room one night to get water and hears Frank, clear as day ask, “How did Mikey lose his sight?”

Mikey wants to storm in and cover Frank’s mouth with his shaky hands. He can’t ask that. He can’t talk to his brother about Mikey’s accident. He can’t talk about that. He can’t. 

Gerard can’t.

Gerard hasn’t talked about it since they were kids. Even then, he didn’t really say anything. He didn’t come near Mikey even, at first. And when he finally felt comfortable to be in the same room with him, it still wasn’t the same. It had felt like Gerard was a stranger, and Mikey didn’t know how to deal with that. Still doesn’t. 

He misses the way they would mindmelt. How he could look at Gerard and know that he needed to escape from everyone else. That he needed Mikey to take his hand and go jumping on couches in front of _Princess Bride_ for a little bit . But he lost that the night he lost his sight. And he just didn’t expect his sight to be the all encompassing factor of his brothers ability to understand him. He didn’t realize that not being able to look at Gerard would silence that bond forever. 

No,

Frank stop.

“I blinded him.”

Stop.

“Mikey?”

He hears it then, the ripping noises of someone’s voice that can’t form words. It sounds like it’s being exercised out of someone by a demented priest. 

Arms around him. “Shh, Mikey, shh,” Gerard murmurs against his forehead. 

Oh, the sound was coming from him. And now that he knew that, he couldn’t stop. And it _hurt_. It physically hurt his whole body, he couldn’t stop it. The hot, razor blades in his throat as he tried to push his sobs back down to his belly. The scalding liquid pouring down his cheeks that he tried to push back in by balling his fists up and shoving them into his broken eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” He hears Frank say softly, the quietest he’s ever heard him.

“Easy,” Gerard whispers, tucking Mikey under his chin and wrapping his arms tighter around his trembling shoulders. “You’re ok, it’s ok. You’re not there, Mikey. You’re here in our apartment.”

But Mikey still reaches up and covers his ears like he can hear it. 

Gerard struggles against him to take hold of his hands. 

Mikey sinks to his knees and covers his ears and screams.

*

“This isn’t really fair,” Mikey says as he walks through the hall of the apartment, arms outreached.

“Sure it is.”

Mikey huffs a laugh. “How am I supposed to play Hide-and-Seek if I can’t do the ‘seek’ part?”

“Guess you just have to get creative,” Pete says softly, and Mikey turns towards his voice. 

Hide-and-Seek used to be Gerard’s favorite game to play. Whenever he was in charge of watching Mikey on a rainy summer day off school, he would _always_ ask Mikey to play with him. And Gerard never let Mikey win just because he was the youngest. Gerard would pick really hard places to hide, making Mikey really work at his victory. 

Mikey was never great at the actual hiding part though. He would copy off Gerard a lot, so Gerard always found him pretty quickly. There was one time when Mikey found a way to crawl up into the cabinet above the stove. He huddled with the lone bottle of vodka that his mother never drank and waited.

At first he had thought that Gerard gave up, because it never took him this long to find him. And then he heard the frantic shrill of Gerard’s voice after a while, “Mikey this isn’t funny!” or “I’m not playing anymore, come out!”

But Mikey stayed, because for once, Gerard was looking for him and not the other way around. And if Mikey knew it would be the last time Gerard would ever look for him again, he would have never left the cabinet.

He takes a few steps into the living room now and pauses. He can hear the cars on the street, honking and the tires sloshing water around. The neighbors underneath them are watching some action movie and he can hear Mrs. Lewellen arguing with her husband again. But, Mikey tunes them out and zeros in on just the noise within the apartment. He listens to the hum of the dishwasher and the ticking of their grandmother’s old clock that sits above the TV. 

And then he hears it. The heavy breathing of someone who’s trying to hold in a laugh. He walks towards it, and he hears shifting. Shoes scuffing the fake hardwood floor, denim brushing against itself, and a sharp inhale. 

Mikey walks over and sits in Pete’s lap, who giggles.

“I found you,” Mikey whispers. 

“I knew you would.”

*

Mikey loves the feeling of Pete’s sheets under him. They’re worn cotton, like they’ve soaked up all of Pete’s memories and are storing them for Mikey to come absorb. He grips them, sighs at the softness entangling his fingertips then lets out a moan as Pete swallows around him. 

Mikey arches up and whines, and he’d blush if he even had the brain power to want to care how needy and desperate his sounds right now. 

“Fuck me,” he pants out, and is surprised by how much he actually means it. He isn’t sure if this is too fast. If he’s only moving this quickly with Pete because no one has ever touched him like this, or even wanted to. 

But, fuck that. That’s shallow and stupid, Mikey thinks. Pete is more than just a nice guy who isn’t scared of touching the blind guy. He treats him like a person first, and blind second. He doesn’t automatically open Mikey’s soda for him when he hands him a can or grab his arm to lead him where he wants to go. He lets Mikey decide when he wants help. And that freedom, that validity makes Mikey want to _cry_. 

He wants to give Pete everything. Wants to experience everything with him. Wants to be loved and touched and seen. 

And he’s so in love with this man for not asking Mikey “if he’s sure”. He just leans up and kisses Mikey, slowly and giving him time to back out if he needs to. He strokes his cheek and plants a tiny kiss on his nose before Mikey feels cool air on his feverish skin. He hears a drawer open and rumbling. A crinkle of a condom wrapper, a bottle opening. Then a warm, sure hand on his thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Ok, baby?” Pete whispers.

A flutter of panic sets in, then Mikey reaches for him. “Come here.”

Pete leans over him, lets the weight of his hips and thighs rest on Mikey. He nuzzles against Mikey’s neck. “I’m right here.”

And that’s what Mikey needs. His skin is singing for Pete, his blood is rushing to reach him, his cells dancing under his fingertips. He hears the racing of Pete’s heart, feels the shakiness in his thighs, tastes the sweat on the top of his lip. His whole body is along for the ride except his eyes, and he can’t move past that. 

“I don’t,” Mikey begins, “I don’t ever really...I try not to wish to see very often.”

“Mikey,” Pete whispers, stroking his cheek.

Mikey shakes his head. “But, I’m so”--he shakes his head again, feels it bump against Pete’s-- “I’m so mad that I can’t see you right now. That I can’t see this happening.”

Mikey feels Pete get up, and his heart sinks. He’s ruined the moment, because of course he has. Mikey ruins everything. His blindness ruins everything. Mikey is blind. Blind is Mikey, there is no separation. No matter how much Pete tries to prove that there is. He ruins everything.

But then he feels Pete over him again, knees on either side of his hips. He reaches down and takes Mikey’s hands and brings them up to his face. Mikey sighs and traces over his soft, slightly damp lips, up his rounded cheekbones, and then he feels silk. 

Mikey breathes out a laugh, or at least he hopes it’s a laugh and not a sob. It’s a bit of both.

Pete takes Mikey’s hand and lets him trace the silk scarf that’s wrapped around Pete’s eyes. “First for both of us now,” Pete whispers. 

Pete doesn’t let Mikey’s hesitation make things awkward. He cups his cheek gently and coaxes his lips open with his tongue, stroking the inside of his mouth until Mikey is mewling in his mouth. Pete caresses Mikey’s arms, waking them back up, sending fire down his veins. He nibbles on his chest and his fingertips dance down his stomach, over to scratch at his hip bone, then slides over coarse hair. Wraps around him and drags the want out of Mikey. Has him hover over it until another set of fingers coax him open.

Pete kisses him through it, tells him how beautiful he is.

“You can’t see me,” Mikey bites out, trying to push the sentence out before it gets engulfed in a moan. 

“Don’t need to,” Pete whispers hoarsely, “Can’t you feel it, Mikey? Can’t you feel how beautiful this is?”

Mikey doesn’t answer until Pete is moving inside him, his legs wrapped around Pete’s rhythmic hips and his nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t answer until he’s on the edge, where falling over is terrifying. He knows that once he’s over this edge, there’s no coming back and the thought would paralyze Mikey if Pete wasn’t in control of his body right now. He knows that on the other side, his heart could get smashed into jagged pieces. Too small to put back together or matter. But, he also knows that over the edge is pleasure. Waves and waves of pleasure coursing through his blood and immobilizing his limbs with it. Knows that his mind will go fuzzy and his heart will pound to the beat of Pete’s. He knows that over the edge is a chance to have everything. That Pete would give him everything. Pleasure. Freedom. Laughter. Sunflowers. Love. 

Love.

Mikey doesn’t answer until Pete dives off the ledge, unafraid and Mikey follows after him. 

“Beautiful,” Mikey breathes when his voice comes back to him.

*

Mikey doesn’t dream often, and when he does it’s usually all sounds and murkey blobs. He doesn’t see faces, unless it’s Gerard’s when they were kids. It’s the only face he hasn’t forgotten now. He tries to hang on to it whenever it pops into his mind, goes over the lines of his face, his stupid childish grin to sear the image into his brain.

Tries to overwrite the last image he saw.

Gerard, afraid.

And then white hot light.

Then darkness.

*

When Mikey touches Gerard’s paintings these days, they don’t feel angry. 

He hums as his fingers glide along smooth swirls, twisting into smaller shapes before expanding back out. Like a dance. Mikey grins and pictures Gerard’s awkward feet trying to find a rhythm, stepping on each other and squeaking on a high school’s gym floor. He strokes the paint, feels how shallow it is, to the surface and unafraid to be seen.

Gerard’s not hiding anymore. 

But Mikey still isn’t sure if he’s ready to come looking yet.

*

During Fall Break, Pete takes Mikey apple picking.

He wraps Mikey in one of Pete’s soft sweaters and layers a cozy scarf around his neck. He kisses the tip of his nose and weaves their fingers together. He keeps Mikey’s mouth warm with hot cider and kisses. 

Mikey smells every apple that his hands touch. He reaches up into the trees and wiggles his fingers until he touches the cool, smooth fruit. Wraps his hand around it and gives a gentle tug before holding it under his nose and inhaling the crisp sweetness. 

Pete let’s Mikey pick as many as he wants, he just keeps taking them from Mikey and he can hear them being placed in a basket. 

When they get home, Pete shows Mikey how to bake a pie. How to know when the apples are done over the stove. “They get mushy and you can smell how sticky they are,” he had murmured against Mikey’s ear, pushing the spatula into Mikey’s hand. Mikey stirred with small movements until he got more confident. He listened to the low sizzle, listened for the liquid that Pete said would form, tried to catch the moment he heard the thick bubbles pop. 

Mikey reached in with a hesitant finger and nudged an apple, feeling his nail go through the apple without resistance. So, Mikey turned off the stove and moved the pan off the burner. 

“Perfect,” Pete praised. 

Pete has Mikey work the dough with his hands, then lets him cut the stips with a pizza cutter. Mikey is sure that they come out uneven and wonky, but Pete doesn’t say anything. He has Mikey lay the crust onto a pie pan then pour the hot apples in, Mikey smiles at the sugary steam that comes up to kiss his face. Then Pete hands Mikey the strips he cut to lay over the apples. 

Pete opens the oven for Mikey, but has him place the pan onto the oven rack. It’s something that his mom would have never let Mikey do. Scared that he’d burn himself, and he appreciated it, he really did. He just _wanted_ the chance to do it himself. He just wants the chance to burn himself. To make a mistake. 

He stopped feeling human after people stopped letting him make mistakes. 

When the timer goes off, Pete covers Mikey’s hands in oven mitts and lets him pull the pie out of the oven. 

Gerard comes back from the store, setting down something heavy on the counter. “Can’t have pie without ice cream.”

Mikey grins and reaches out, Gerard takes his hand and pulls him into a hug. “Smells great, Mikey.”

*

Pete puts Mikey’s palms against the walls, spreading them out a bit. Mikey hesitates, but takes a deep breath and settles in because he knows Pete wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. To humiliate him. 

Pete pulls Mikey’s hips back gently and nudges his feet apart so he’s spread out. Mikey feels so exposed, and if it were anyone else, as _if_ it could be anyone else, he would be curling in on himself. But, it’s Pete. So he holds himself up against the wall and waits.

He breathes a harsh, “Motherfuck,” as Pete wraps his hand around him, giving a lazy stroke and passing his thumb over the head. Mikey’s neck folds back and Pete mouths at his ear, “So fucking hot, Mikey Way.”

Mikey whines and his hips start moving to meet Pete’s upstrokes. He can feel Pete’s smile against his neck, presses a kiss to the point where his neck and shoulder meet. “So good,” he praises softly.

And then there’s rustling and Mikey thinks he’s going to pull away, but he hears a soft thud and he groans, just _wishing_ that he could see the sight of Pete on his knees. A sure, steady hand grips Mikey’s hip and then he cries out when he feels Pete’s tongue at his opening.

His ears are full with the sound of his own voice. Wrecked and pitchy, whining pleas of stopping this sweet torture and begging, begging for more, just _anything_. Pete’s hand on his hip strokes up and down in what Mikey assumes is supposed to be a soothing way, but his skin lights on fire under his touch. His hips stutter, unsure whether he should buck forward against Pete’s strokes or push back against his mouth. 

He’s overcome with so much feeling. His body wound tight and his mind racing. He didn’t know it could be like this. He’s in awe that another person could do this to him. Make him feel so much. Feel cared and wrecked at the same time. Could make him feel this love. Because that’s what it was. This such intense feeling that made Mikey feel like he was lost at sea, waves pushing him down, down, into angry waters that were trying to bury him only to feel Pete’s gentle hand on his hip, grounding him. _I’ve got you ._

*

There’s a party.

Mikey hasn’t ever been to a party. Well, unless you count birthday parties when he was a kid, but those stopped after a few months when he lost his sight. Parents always made kids in his class invite him out of pity, and Mikey knew that so he stopped telling his mom about them. 

“Don’t get my brother drunk,” Gerard had warned when Pete picked him up at the apartment.

Pete giggled. “Maybe just a bit tipsy?”

Silence.

“Fine, only soda for you tonight, Mikey Way,” Pete says softly, tugging on his hand. 

Mikey shrugs. He never really wanted to drink, not after hearing Gerard stumble around and puke. Groans and sobs. And the smell. He smelled like death. And Mikey wondered what the point of it all was. Probably some form of self punishment.

Pete drives them, letting Mikey call out song requests along the way. When they arrive, Mikey reaches out for Pete and clings to his hand as he leads him into the loud house. It’s almost too much. Hearing people shout, laugh, and sing off key. There’s music coming from different directions of the house. He hears cups falling, bottles clinking together, cans being popped open.

Mikey squeezes Pete’s hand. “Too loud,” he says.

Pete squeezes back and leads him outside, where he still can hear people, but it’s not as intense without the walls to bounce off of. 

“Hey, guys,” he hears Ray. Mikey turns towards the voice and holds an arm out and Ray fills it, wrapping his other arm around him. “Good to see you, Mikes.”

Pete leaves Mikey with Ray to grab him a soda. Ray tells him about his break so far, how he’s spent most of it on grading papers. “It’s like these kids aren’t even trying. I hate teaching Freshmen, no offense.”

Mikey grins and shrugs. Because, yeah he doesn’t really try in his Gen Ed classes either. 

He feels a cool can pressed into his hand and Mikey leans in, Pete meeting him halfway, to kiss him. “Thank you.”

At some point Mikey ends up in a drinking game. And Pete giggles around him, hands hanging onto his hips. The game is called Twenty-One, and the only reason he can play is that all you have to do is county to twenty-one without messing up everyone’s rules. 

No one gets mad at Pete and Mikey playing with just soda, and Mikey knows it’s because they don’t want to be mean to the blind guy. He would feel embarrassed by that, but he’s having too much fun to really care. 

“Look what I found!”

Mikey raises an eyebrow when he hears everyone cheering. He reaches for Pete, finding his shirt and clinging to it. “What’s going on?”

“Just frat boys being stupid,” Pete says, and Ray laughs. 

And then he hears it. That sizzle of sparks followed by a loud pop.

Mikey feels like his ears are filling up with water then. He can’t really hear anything. His body feels like he’s floating. He’s aware that he’s not standing, his knees crack loudly against the cement of the driveway they were standing on. He is aware that hands are tugging on his shoulders. 

But he’s not here. 

He’s nine years old again. 

“Micheal James Way, if you ask me one more time, you’re not getting any dessert tonight,” his mom had said when he asked to go out and play with fireworks like all the other kids on their block were doing. 

Mikey loved the Fourth of July. He loved the hot sticky weather and the smell of barbeque in the air. He liked running around the yard with Gerard, popsicle dripping down their hands. But he loved fireworks the most. He liked watching the colors erupt in the sky, liked hearing the loud pops and smelling the burnt air. 

Gerard had crawled into Mikey’s bottom bunk of their bed and whispered, “Come on, Mikey, I have a surprise.”

Mikey had of course followed Gerard, he always had the best surprises. They tiptoed past their parent’s room and down the steps. Gerard led them out the back door and grabbed a paper bag from under the porch steps. 

“This way, Mikey,” Gerard said softly, taking Mikey’s hand and taking him down the street to the park. 

Mikey grinned and clapped when he saw Gerard pull out bottle rockets from the bag. Gerard lit them off and laughed at Mikey’s wonderous expression. “Again, again!” He would cheer and Gerard would light off another one. 

“Alright, last one,” Gerard said, setting it up and getting his lighter ready.

“Wait!” Mikey cried, “Can I do it?”

Gerard had hesitated, but he ended up nodding. “Yeah, sure. You’re nine, that’s old enough.”

Mikey bounced over to him and took the yellow lighter. He squatted down over the bottle rocket that Gerard had ready in the beer bottle. He flicked the lighter and lit the wick, backing up like Gerard had done. 

He braced himself for the bang, but the rocket stayed put. Mikey looked at Gerard, who just shrugged and said, “Sorry, buddy, it might be a dud.”

Mikey frowned and when to go check on it, determined and not paying attention to Gerard running back towards him yelling, “Mikey, don’t--”

But Mikey’s face was already over the bottle rocket, trying to figure out why it hadn’t lit, when

He heard the bottle rocket leave, felt the white hot burn hit his face. He had a split second where fear paralyzed him and he knew the rocket would explode. He had a split second to see for the last time. 

So he looked up at Gerard. Traced his face with his eyes, scared, but his favorite person in the world. 

And then there was a loud pop.

And his world went black.

“Mikey!” Gerard had screamed. 

“Mikey!” he hears Pete yell against his temple.

He felt Gerard’s arms around him, felt his hands on his face, stroking his cheeks, “Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” Gerard sobbed. 

Pete’s arms pick Mikey up, cradle him against his chest. “Shh, baby, shh, you’re ok.”

“We need to get him out of here,” He hears Ray.

And then he’s moving. And he’s being placed in a car, with Pete’s jacket over him. “Mikey, sweetheart, stop screaming,” Pete whispers against his ear. He feels Pete rocking him, but he can’t focus on being here. He just keeps hearing the pops of bottle rockets. Keeps seeing Gerard’s fearful face.

“What the hell happened?” Gerard growls when Pete gets him through the door.

“There were fireworks--”

“Fuck,” Gerard mutters and takes Mikey from Pete. Mikey curls into Gerard, clings to his shirt and starts to sob. “I know, Mikey, shh, I know,” Gerard murmurs as he carries him through the apartment. 

He feels the mattress underneath him, then the dip of Gerard laying down next to him. He curls onto his side to face him. Gerard takes Mikey’s hands and starts to squeeze his fingertips. 

“Count, Mikey, do your counting,” Gerard whispers. 

Mikey can’t stop crying long enough to utter a word, just feels his sobs stealing his breath. 

“One,” Gerard says gently, biting on Mikey’s index finger. 

Mikey huffs and hiccups, “One,” he says weakly.

“Good,” Gerard whispers, then tugs on his middle finger, “Two.”

“Two,” Mikey whimpers.

By the time Gerard gets to ten, Mikey is back. His fingers are sore, but he can feel his body again. Can hear Pete and Ray in the hallway and actually acknowledge that they’re here. Can tell that the Gerard in the bed with him is twenty-two year old Gerard and not twelve year old Gerard from that night. 

“Are you with me, Mikey Way?” Gerard whispers. 

Mikey nods and sniffles. “Scary,” he whispers.

“I know,” Gerard says gently, pulling him into his arms, “I know it is.”

*

Mikey hears them talking in the living room, lowly like they don’t want to wake him up.

Mikey sits up and goes to stand against the shared wall with the living room.

“What was that thing you did with him?” Mikey hears Pete ask. 

“Um, I don’t know. It’s just a thing we do when Mikey gets freaked out,” Gerard says, sounding a bit embarrassed. And Mikey is a bit too. It’s personal. 

Gerard didn’t touch Mikey for years after the accident. And part of Mikey will always resent Gerard for that. For making him relearn his life without his big brother. It felt like he lost his eyes and half his fucking heart in one night. 

Mikey had come home gasping for air. He still doesn’t remember what triggered it. There was this block of time missing from his mind. All he remembers is that he had come home and suddenly there were hands on him that he had not felt since the accident. 

And the touch snapped him back to reality, made him come back to his body instead of floating in the depths of his brain. 

“Mikey, hey, hey,” Gerard had said, and Mikey could actually hear him, “hey, breathe.”

Mikey had tried, he really did try to keep air in his lungs, but it moved so fast. Everything moved too quickly for him to hang on to. He couldn’t focus on

He felt a pinch on his arm and he flinched, but the ping of pain brought his attention to his body again. Out of his mind. 

“You with me, Mikey?”

Another pinch.

Mikey’s brother stuttered, and his next gasp stayed in his lungs. He had nodded. 

“Ok, ok, good, just, hey, focus on me,” Gerard said, pinching him again, “Get out of your head.”

It took them a while to perfect it, but Gerard could bring Mikey back to his present by the time he counted to ten most times. That day, Gerard had sat on the floor of the entryway and kept pinching Mikey until he could breathe normally again. 

And then Gerard had pulled Mikey into his lap and rocked him. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, shaky and heavy like he had been holding this in for the last five years. Five years of not holding his little brother.

*

They don’t talk about it until Mikey is covered in bubbles, sitting between Pete’s legs. 

“I think this is the gayest thing I’ve done,” Mikey says with a grin.

Pete chuckles and makes Mikey’s hair stand up with shampoo. “My dick in your ass isn’t gayer?”

“God, way to be so crass,” Mikey blushes.

Pete strokes his cheek. “You’re so pretty when you blush.”

Mikey turns his head away and blushes harder, which just makes Pete laugh more. He leans up and presses a kiss to the back of Mikey’s neck. “Are we going to talk about it?” He asks gently.

Mikey had thought maybe Pete would let him get by without talking about the night of the party. It had been two weeks now, but now he wonders if Pete was just afraid Mikey would break again. Seems pretty ballsy to bring up a triggering conversation in the bathtub. 

“Mikey?” Pete asks, pressing in another kiss.

Mikey sighs, the tension releasing from his shoulders. “What do you want to know?”

Pete hooks his chin over Mikey’s boney shoulder and wraps his sudsy arms around him. “You had a fireworks accident? That’s what happened to your eyes?”

“Yeah,” Mikey whispers. 

Pete nods, then squeezes him, “What happened after though? At the party, and then when I took you home?”

Mikey swallows thickly, this was the part he didn’t like to talk about. His parents had gotten him a therapist when he had his accident, but he didn’t really talk to her. He was just, accepting of his new disability. He knew nothing was going to change, so he didn’t see the point of dwelling on it. The adults in his life deemed that a very “mature” outlook. Mikey thinks they had expected him to cry about it all the time and when he hadn’t, they just tried to brush everything under the rug so that he could move on with his life. 

But moving on meant pulling him from school to be tutored at home with his hovering mother. Moving on meant Gerard being withdrawn from him for _years_. Moving on meant that he really didn’t have much of a life at all. Meant that he didn’t go to kid’s birthday parties anymore. Meant that he didn’t have a first kiss until he was fucking nineteen. That he didn’t date. He never went to a high school football game. Never danced in a gym to a shitty DJ wearing his dad’s hand-me-down shoes. 

And it was fucking hard. If Mikey thought about it too long, it made him paralyzed. How much of his life he had missed because he couldn’t see. So, no. He couldn’t think about the accident. He had pushed it down so far that whenever he went there, it took him so long to come back up. 

“Baby?” Pete coaxes, “Mikey, talk to me.”

“Sometimes I go away or something,” Mikey mumbles, not really sure how to describe it.

“Dissociation,” Pete whispers, “Ray was telling me that was what he thought was happening.”

Mikey leans back against Pete. “I’m sorry.”“What the hell are you apologizing for?” 

“You didn’t sign up for this.”

Pete doesn’t say anything at first, just hugs Mikey tighter. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving now. I’m an all in kind of guy, Mikey Way. I thought you would have caught on by now.”

“Caught on to what?” He mumbles. 

He can feel Pete’s smile on the back of his neck. “That I love you.”

Mikey stiffens in his arms. If fireworks made Mikey go away, Pete made him hyper aware of his reality. He can feel every bubble on his skin, how the lukewarm water is wrinkling his fingertips, and he can feel Pete everywhere. It’s like his cells are reaching out to hug Pete’s cells, they want to join and never seperate. And Mikey would be ok with that. More than ok. Some days Mikey wants to peel Pete’s skin back and nestle against his bones. He wants to hide in Pete. In this safety.

And it’s that safety that makes Mikey open his mouth and whisper, “I love you.”

*

Mikey comes trampling into the apartment, trying to carry a canvas, a shopping bag full of paint, and his cane.

“Jesus, Mikey, why didn’t you call me to help you?” He hears, and then the items are being removed from his hands. 

Mikey closes the door behind him and grins. “Self-reliant, Gerard.”

“Yeah, well there’s also a thing called self-preservation,” he says, then, “What are you doing with this stuff anyway? I have plenty of paint and canvases here.”

“Yeah for your schoolwork.”

“Again, why do you need this?”

Mikey takes the canvas and the bag of paint. “I’m ready to start looking for you now.”

Silence.

There had been silence for days after Mikey came home from the party. Mikey couldn’t get out of bed. Just kept listening for Gerard to move around the apartment, but it was like the same heaviness had a hold of him too. 

Finally, Mikey had crawled into Gerard’s bed and pressed his face against his chest. Breathed in the tether that held him to this reality and the memories of his sight. “I need you to let me go,” Mikey whispered.

Gerard’s fingers weaved through Mikey’s hair. “What do you mean?”

“You need to let me go from this guilt that you’re carrying,” Mikey explained, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Gerard’s fingers had stilled, and he tugged gently. “It was. If I hadn’t gotten the fireworks, if I had listened to mom--”

“--If I had not looked over the stupid firework. I _knew_ better.”

“You were just a kid.”

“ _You_ were just a kid!”

Gerard huffed. 

“My life didn’t end that night, Gee, please stop acting like it did.”

Gerard pulled Mikey closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Mikey breathed, “I know you are.”

“No,” Gerard whispered, “I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you.”

“I just want my brother back.”

“I never left.”

“I know,” Mikey sniffled, “But I stopped looking for you.”

Mikey goes into the kitchen now and sets down the supplies before feeling along the wall to find the closet where Gerard keeps the sheets. “Can I use this one?” He asks, holding up a sheet.

“Sure,” Gerard says quietly. 

Mikey covers what he hopes is most of the floor before putting the canvas on top of the sheet and opening a bottle of paint. He squirts paint onto his fingertips, before brushing in onto the canvas.

He wonders for a moment what color he’s chosen. If it’s sunflower yellow or apple pie red. Or brown, like Pete’s eyes. And Mikey thinks it’s sort of important that Pete is in this painting, that it shows how Mikey found himself and his brother, and learned that those two things were separate needs. That it shows he was able to do that because of Pete. Because Pete made him a person again. Lets him burn his hand when they’re in the kitchen, Pete lets him take the initiative to kiss him even if he misses, lets him walk past the doors that he needs to go through. Pete is patient and lets Mikey figure things out.

He feels Gerard standing over him, watching. He knows that Gerard isn’t going to ask how painting is going to help Mikey find Gerard. He’s smarter than that. He knows that this is the only way that Mikey can see Gerard anymore. Though art. Through touching paint and canvas. 

“Can I help?” Gerard whispers. 

Mikey holds out a paint covered hand, and Gerard takes it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
